


Mother Nature and an Atom Bomb

by SoftRegard



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blindfolds, Established Relationship, Gunplay, M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15738081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftRegard/pseuds/SoftRegard
Summary: Gavin gets taught another lesson. With his own gun.





	Mother Nature and an Atom Bomb

**Author's Note:**

> consensual, but not safe nor sane. 
> 
> prompt fic for @hawklewds and @lipstolipss! un-beta'd. 
> 
> title from velvet revolver, lol.

 

“Why don’t you knock that shit off, Reed?” snaps Hank, standing from his desk and reaching over to help his partner wipe away some of the spilled coffee.

Gavin shrugs and gives them both his biggest smile. “Whoops,” he says with a pop of the lips. “Shoulda watched where I was goin’, I guess.”

After this long on the force, Connor really should’ve seen the shoulder check coming. Still, he watches the android pull off his wet tie and place it onto his desk, and lets the satisfaction wash over him. Connor’s still got that placid look on his face, because the dainty son of a bitch doesn’t seem to get mad at _anything_ it seems. At least Hank looks pissed enough for the both of them.

He glances toward the desk on the far side of the room where RK sits at his monitor, watching the scene with pinched brows and a downward turn of the mouth. Gavin winks, and pleasure curls in his belly when the scowl deepens. Not by much, but Gavin knows him well enough by now to understand that a little bit can mean a lot with these things.   

He leaves Hank and his pet to the clean up, walking back to his own desk.

Today’s a paperwork kind of day. Naturally, he messes around on his phone for most of it until he gets a pointed look from Fowler through the glass wall of the man’s office. After that, the rest of the night is spent picking slowly at his report on his terminal until he hits a point where he has to get up and grab a file from one of the back rooms.

Most of the station has cleared out but for a few stragglers and the late shift folk so he goes ahead and takes his time, taking the long way with hands in his pockets and head in the clouds.

The filing rooms are on the other side of the building from the bullpen, virtually deserted during the night. Gavin swipes his keycard on the reader and shoulders open the door with grunt. He hits the lightswitch as it clicks shut behind him, and scans the rows of shelves; the room smells like paper, musty and cloying. He hates coming in here, always feeling like he’s on the verge of a sneeze. That, and the buzzing of the out-of-date fluorescent lights above him make his teeth rattle in his mouth.  

There’s a sound at his back, like footsteps. He turns and the door opens into his face.  

He sees stars, bursts of light - and again when he trips over his own feet and the back of his head collides with the hard ground.

“Son of a bi-”

The door slams shut on his shout, and RK’s bland voice floods the room: “You really don’t know how to conduct yourself, do you?”

Gavin coughs, feeling like his breath got lodged in his chest from the impact. He blinks up at the android’s face, zeroing in on the fine crinkles along his nose and the sides of his mouth, where his lips are pulling down. Still angry, it seems, hours later.

“Every time I think you’ve developed some sense,” RK continues, looking down his nose. Sneering. “I’m proven wrong almost immediately. It’s almost a talent, Reed.”

Gavin snickers and pushes himself off the ground. Or, he tries to - as soon as he makes it to a sitting position he feels the heel of RK’s shoe connect sharply with his forehead and he’s stumbling. There’s the gritty feeling of dirt in his eyelashes, and he snarls.  

“Fuckin’ _asshole_!” He jerks forward and tries to swipe at RK’s leg, but his hand connects with nothing. He scrubs at his eyes with his other arm.

Then RK has him by neck and his hands scrabble at a white-clad forearm instead. It doesn’t budge; it never does.

“ _Grrk_!”

Through rapidly blurring vision, he watches RK’s stoic face as he’s being lifted off the ground - and then off his fucking _feet_ \- and dangled in the air like a doll, kicking fitfully at the android’s stomach. RK squeezes, hard enough to feel like Gavin’s head is going to pop off his shoulders like a cork, before tossing him bodily onto the lone table in the room. Gavin lands hard on his shoulder blades; his elbow catches the edge of the table at a bad angle and a shock races up his arm. He wheezes, and tries to blink away tears.  

Gavin looks up to see RK making his way to the table, framed between the awkward spread of his own legs and almost bisected by the tent already in his jeans. RK looks down at it, shakes his head like he’s disappointed.

Gavin’s mouth floods with spit.  

“Already?” RK asks, voice light. “It doesn’t take much, does it?”

“Callin’ me easy, terminator?” His voice is too weak for any real bite, so he glares and bares his teeth, instead.

“I don’t think there’s a word out there for what you are,” says RK.

“And yet you’re here,” Gavin waves a hand, ignoring how it shakes, gesturing down the line of his own body. “Being so fuckin’ entertaining.”

“The correct word,” he says drily, brow raised. “Would be, ‘indulgent’.”

Before Gavin can respond, the android’s face falls back into his serious expression. RK reaches over, one hand braced on the table between Gavin’s legs and slipping the other behind Gavin’s tender neck to pull him forward so they’re eye-to-eye: “It’s about time you start leaving Connor alone, Reed.”

Gavin snorts - though the sound shakes on its way out. “Yeah? And why the fuck should I do that?”

He feels RK’s thumb press harshly into the space behind his ear and he flinches, trying to wrench himself away. He stops when RK’s other hand snatches him by the jaw. The muscles in his thighs twitch, rolling under his jeans; RK’s pale eyes flicker over them for only a second, but Gavin catches the motion and feels his heartbeat rock against his ribs in anticipation.  

He wasn’t actually gunning for this today, but if RK wants to go ahead and work out some frustration Gavin is more than game.

RK’s jaw twitches. He looks like he’s grinding his teeth. “I could go back to ignoring you.”

The fingers dig in harder, and an ache pulses all over his head. Still, Gavin feels his lip curling back, and spittle flies out of his mouth when he hisses, “You couldn’t ignore me the _first time_ , asshole.”

RK sucks in a breath through his nose, nostrils flaring.  

“You’re right about that,” he says, clipped. “I guess I’ll just have to adjust my strategy.”

The hands fall away and the sudden release of pressure leaves him dizzy.   

There’s the sound of swishing fabric - then the room goes black just as Gavin jumps at the sensation of cloth slapping over his eyelids. On instinct he tries to flail and reach up toward his face, but RK snatches his wrists and holds them tight enough to bruise.

“What -”

“Shh.” The grip tightens and grinds his tendons together.  

He smells coffee and realizes that the cloth is Connor’s soiled tie - RK must’ve picked it up at some point. Had he just been waiting the whole night for the chance to spring this on him?

Gavin would spare a moment to feel proud that he has managed to be such a bad fucking influence on the resident CyberLife masterpiece, but he’s being shoved onto his back again. The sensation of tipping over without his sight makes his stomach lurch.  

Neither of them have the kind of patience to go for this kind of thing usually, with blindfolds and the like. Most of their fights end up with Gavin shoved against the nearest wall, jeans around his ankles and a hand brutally jerking him off until his legs are jelly.

RK releases his wrists, and his arms flop down to his sides to clutch at the edges of the table. His own movements feel jerky - as though his brain and his body want to go in different directions.

He doesn’t know what to expect, and a big part of him doesn’t rightly give a shit - all he has known for weeks now is that RK’s attention is like nothing else in the world, and he’s been riding the high of it like a deranged red ice junkie.  

What he doesn’t expect is the sudden feeling of his gun being pulled from his hip holster. Gavin’s insides seize and he sputters in cold fear: “Hey, what the _fuck_?!”

He starts to reach up for the tie but the barrel nudges against his temple, on the right side. The barest touch, and Gavin freezes, hands starting to sweat.

He loves his gun; he’s never, ever felt it this close to his own head before.  

“What’re you playing at...?” he whispers, breathing hard through his nose.  

RK hums. “You’re lucky that I _am_ still playing, Reed.”

There’s a shuffling sort of noise, the sound of a chair being wheeled over. Gavin hears it creak as RK seats himself, hears it rolling closer and until it comes to a stop right over his head. He feels the gust of the android’s breath ruffling his hair, warm against his forehead. The black of the tie drowns out all sight - yet he imagines he can feel the sensation of the android’s shadow falling over him, too.  

“Some days...” The muzzle grazes his brow and the rumble of RK’s voice is only inches above him, sharp and clear; Gavin’s wires are so crossed that he’s not actually sure which makes him more nervous. “I imagine what it would be like to stop playing this game with you altogether.”

He jumps as a hand settles itself on the other side of his face, fingertips lightly touching his cheekbone, his nose, the side of his wide open mouth; there’s the familiar whooshing sound of RK retracting his skin and the feeling of warm human flesh is harshly replaced with cold android plastic.

Hanging over the edge of the table, his toes curl in his shoes.

“Earlier,” RK’s voice is a calming sound that drowns out the annoying drone of the fluorescents. “I pre-constructed several scenarios in which I finally gave in and killed you.”

Gavin sucks in a breath through his teeth. His hips jump, and the keys in his back pocket rattle against the table.  

RK’s hand flattens against his face, cradling his jaw. The gun’s muzzle shoves closer and he almost winces at how hard it digs into his skin, right where an android’s LED would be. Now is a hell of a time for his mouth to stop working, because he thinks he should probably say something but his voice is trapped in his throat. He can feel it - a veritable tangle of curses and challenges and mindless rage tucked into the vulnerable, meaty column of his neck.

“In one,” says RK, casually, as though sharing a story over lunch. “I picked up Detective Chen’s gun from her desk and shot you in the head -” he taps the muzzle against Gavin’s temple, as though he could’ve possibly forgotten it was there. “All before the coffee cup hit the ground. That one, in particular, was satisfying.”

The grip at his jaw tightens, and he feels RK’s lips brush against his ear: “So satisfying that I almost did it, Reed.”

Gavin’s hands shake, tightening on the table so hard that he feels an ache start to bloom in his arms. He has no idea if RK is lying, or if he’s just putting up a show. His cock doesn’t seem to care either way, nudging up against the fly of his jeans.

“I would be decommissioned, of course - sent back to CyberLife in pieces,” the thought doesn’t sound like it disturbs RK one bit, but Gavin can’t tell. He needs a read on the android’s face, for that. And he’s too distracted by the sensation of lips at his ear. “I considered that, too.”

He doesn’t sound angry - he doesn’t sound like he cares at all. Gavin’s only response is a full-body twitch that jostles the whole table.

“It would have been worth it,” RK murmurs. “Just to silence your barking.”  

The muzzle leaves his temple and he sags. The hand on his face stays put.

There’s a hum from above, a considering little sound.

“A Smith & Wesson M&P .40,” RK recites the gun’s model as though that’s going to be news to either of them. “In this day and age, Reed?”

He hears RK settling himself back against the chair, and when he speaks again his voice his farther away. A marginally safer distance.

RK clicks his tongue. “Sentimental, are you?”

“You shut your mouth,” Gavin snaps, face heating. “You have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

Yeah, maybe he’s sentimental. It’d been the gun of choice for the force when he was growing up, watching all the big guys in their blue uniforms getting all the attention and respect he’d always wanted. Watching guys like Hank Anderson standing proud on the front page of the newspapers, making speeches at the academy to a room full of jumped up hopefuls. Gavin had been one of them once, standing a few rows back from the front and staring at the man with big eyes and hands so sweaty they’d left a print on his clothes. It doesn’t matter that the man’s a washed up deadbeat now - that day had mattered more to Gavin than his own fucking birthday.   

What the hell does a machine know about sentiment, anyway?

There’s a firm yank on his jacket hood - he’s being pulled back with a yelp and a screech of his palms on the table’s surface, dragged until his head and neck are dangling off the edge.   

“Argh-!”

“Be still and be quiet.”

There’s a warning weight on his shoulder. It takes him a second to feel it out, but he soon recognizes the shape of RK’s hand and the butt of his pistol. The hand tilts and Gavin feels the frame and trigger guard pressing into his cheek and jaw. Not hard at all, just a casual rest, but Gavin starts to sweat all the same. At that angle the muzzle is probably pointing up toward the ceiling, but fired this close and the slide kicking back would still take his fucking ear off, would certainly deafen him, would burn his face, would -

The chair is rolling backward and Gavin hears RK standing. The gun pulls away but he doesn’t have a moment to breathe because RK is planting the muzzle directly at the center of his forehead, pushing hard enough that Gavin’s head drops down even further off the edge.

He nearly launches himself off the table.

“Shh.” RK says, again.

His neck is starting to hurt already, and the blood rushes loudly in his ears.    

RK probably has perfect form; he can imagine the breadth of the android’s palm against the gun’s customized, textured backstrap. Thumbs in perfect position, wrist angled correctly. Long, pale fingers against the matte black casing. Good trigger discipline - he hopes.   

He feels pressure under his jaw, nudging his head to tip backward. He follows it, hyper aware of the vulnerable stretch of his throat; his teeth are chattering in his mouth against his will. There’s the nauseating feeling of fear starting to claw at his guts and that he wills down. Partly for his pride, partly for his curiosity.

Mostly, he just wants to keep the android’s attention. It’s the one constant in his life, these days.  

Gavin feels the point of the gun move, dragging up the bridge of his twice-broken nose to stop at his lips. The muzzle taps against his mouth, clacking against his teeth. “You know what to do,” says RK, voice dry.

He almost wants to snap his mouth closed and tighten his lips together just to see what RK would do. There’s the familiar urge to balk at being instructed, to turn things around and make a goddamn mess of things. He wonders how much of his shit RK can take before he pulls the trigger and blows Gavin’s brains out - he wonders about it and fears it all at once.

He doesn’t make a mess; instead, he does what he’s told.

The M&P .40’s barrel isn’t that long; it doesn’t take much before his upper lip is nestled snug against the trigger guard when the pistol can go no further. Still, it’s thick enough to stretch his jaw, splitting his mouth open wide enough to hurt. The little notch of the front sight scratches the pad of his tongue, and the jagged equipment rail is brushing uncomfortably against the roof of his mouth. It tastes so strongly of metal he nearly gags. He still smells the coffee on Connor’s tie, too.  

He clutches so tightly at the edge of the table it feels like his knuckles are sure to split through his own skin.  

There’s a click - a sound so familiar, so important: the thumb safety being switched off.

Gavin’s breath quickens in panic and he starts to pant around the barrel.

“I pre-constructed this one too, you know,” says RK, voice mighty and terrifying from so high up. “I would be long gone before anyone made their way to this side of the building. Here - no one would know it was me.”

One of Gavin’s hands peels away and stops on his own belly, a bare inch from his belt. His fingers tremble and his nails grasp against the thick fabric of his shirt, anxious; he wants to reach for his cock - or maybe the gun, he’s not sure.

RK’s hand slips onto his face underneath the gun, the heel of his palm clamping down on Gavin’s nose, forcing his breath through his mouth. Fingers dig hard into his cheeks to force open his jaw more, so wide now he fears it’ll snap in half. Gavin whimpers, heart rabbit fast, and feels his legs kicking at the air.

His neck hurts, and breathing feels like a privilege he’s barely allowed.  

“Imagine being found like this.”

The tie is so black that he can’t see shit, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from twitching in their sockets, trying their best to find something. Just a sliver of light - he thinks he could rest easy if he found one.

“Well, go on,” says RK, like they’re back at the office and handing over files or talking shop about cases. “Don’t exercise restraint on _my_ account. You’ve always done what you’ve wanted, haven’t you?”

Gavin groans around the barrel, hands flying to his belt; he’s flying blind but manages to make quick work of it and his zipper. Getting a hand on himself brings a relief so intense he falls to pieces, feels hot tears spring to his eyes. His head pounds from the blood rush.

He tries to clamp his teeth around the blunt pressure of the gun in his maw, but nothing budges. Not the gun, not RK’s hand, not the blackness holding his eyes prisoner.

Gavin grunts and it comes out in a weak little gurgle, but hell if he cares anymore. He rocks up into his own fist, desperate in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. His head swims, heavy with blood, it feels like - he can’t hear much past it. Only the faint buzz of the fluorescents, the sounds of his keys clattering against the table’s surface. His eyes and his ears are shot, but his nose - it stings with the smell of coffee, the stink of his own sweat.

RK tuts.

“You didn’t even put up a fight this time, Reed.”

The sound of it knocks him into an orgasm so sharp it feels gouged out of him. Gavin cries out around the gun, muffled; there’s the uncomfortable feeling of spit pooling at the back of his mouth.

He jerks himself through it - hears the distant, ugly sound of his own flesh.

The pistol and the hand leave his face in one swoop of motion, and Gavin coughs so hard he gags.

Then he’s being grabbed by the shoulders and heaved back onto the table properly. The back of his head finally gets to rest on a flat surface, and the full force of the ache in his neck and shoulders almost burns.

He feels RK pulling at the knot behind his head just before the cloth is wisping off the bridge of his nose. Gavin slowly opens his eyes, squinting at the light; RK is carefully folding the tie into a neat little square and sliding it into his pocket. There’s the unpleasant sensation of old coffee on his skin, somehow, right in there with his sweat. He’s going to have to wash his face before he goes home.  

He spends a minute just laying there, breathing. Aching. A faint tremor runs along his arms.

He remembers that his dick is still out, covered in come and drying in the air. Gingerly, Gavin tucks himself back into his jeans and the act of zipping up feels like the greatest feat of strength for his jelly arms - his boneless wrists, too, and muscles made of plasticine.

When he gets home, he’s going to sleep like the dead.

Gavin rolls his head to the side, watching as RK sits back down onto the chair. He’s still holding Gavin’s M&P .40.

His trigger discipline is impeccable.

“Leave Connor alone,” he says and his voice is back to his bland, professional tones.

Gavin grumbles in response, a knot of sounds that make no sense even to his own ears. He doubts the android could parse out anything from it, either.  

RK crosses his legs and tilts his head. That loose bit of hair moves with the motion in the most coordinated attack on Gavin’s every sensibility. He feels the urge to nestle himself right into that lap - but he’d rather put the gun to his head again than admit it.

“Y’know, prick?” Gavin slurs - he doesn’t mean to, but his jaw still aches too much for clarity. “I’ll think about it.”

“Hm,” RK considers his face. “How about I make you an offer?”

Gavin’s brows pinch together, “Huh?”

“You leave Connor alone,” he continues, and his gaze on Gavin’s face is pointed. There is something like a smile on his mouth. “And I will reserve us a private session at the shooting range.”

The hum of the fluorescents is maddening, all of a sudden. It makes his teeth tingle.

RK stands and Gavin cranes his sore neck up to follow the sight of his face. He looks expectant, gazing down at Gavin’s form on the table as though he’s looking at a show dog. He taps the muzzle against Gavin’s nose.   

“Well?”

Gavin tongues the inside of his cheek, working at the crick in his jaw as he considers it. Then he smiles.

“Got yourself a deal, terminator.”


End file.
